


A Place for Everything

by kinkme (kscribbles)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, F/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:11:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4236744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscribbles/pseuds/kinkme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Rose indulges in some personal time while wearing Nine's jacket. Ten watches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place for Everything

**Author's Note:**

> As the tags imply, there is a non-con element in this fic in that the observed is not aware of the observer. No acts of violence herein.
> 
> Originally written anonymously for the [Doctor Who kinkmeme](http://sizeofthatthing.livejournal.com) on Livejournal. Written in 2009.

  
It was only a few weeks after his regeneration, when he was searching for a new tie in the wardrobe room, and noticed his leather jacket had gone missing. His old jacket, the one worn by his last self, like a proverbial coat of armour. He'd loved that coat. And though it didn't fit or feel quite right anymore, he didn't like the idea of not knowing where it was. Everything in its place, and all that. Plus he'd never finished transferring his vast collection of random items from the pockets.  
  
He double and triple checked through the racks, but it didn't turn up anywhere. He debated going to ask Rose if she'd seen it. She'd be asleep by now, no doubt. Their last adventure had been harrowing and particularly exhausting. He should really let her rest. Then again... she was sort of used to him waking her all the time these days. He'd developed a bit of a habit of it of late. She'd called it endearing, even though he knew how annoyed she'd get when her sleep was disturbed.  
  
But he needed to find that coat. It was entirely possible he'd left that beautiful patterned silk tie given to him by the premier of Xchfu in one of the pockets. So off he went in search of it and of Rose.  
  
Her door was locked. But her door was never locked. Bit of a hazard, that, in a home where emergencies were kind of regular occurrences. Maybe she was finally fed up with him disturbing her. Well, he'd better clear the air about that right away. He rapped lightly on the door, not wanting to wake her suddenly. There was no response. Not surprising; her bed was far from the door and around an alcove. The TARDIS has indulged Rose quite a bit.  
  
He knocked again and listened closely at the door, tempted to take out his stethoscope. He heard... something, perhaps, but nothing he could make out for sure. He debated one last time about invading her privacy when she’d sent a pretty clear signal she didn’t want to be disturbed. Maybe she’d locked it by accident? He shrugged and then quietly soniced the lock and slipped inside. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the sounds became easier to pick out. Soft sighs, the rustling of fabric, someone moving restlessly in bed. She was sleeping then, probably dreaming. He began to inch tentatively, quietly towards the alcove where she lay sleeping, and something else assaulted his senses: the powerful, unmistakable scent of human female arousal. He stopped dead in his tracks.  
  
_Was_ she dreaming? Entirely possible. But if she wasn’t... and she’d locked the door... and he just heard a louder sigh, more like a moan... Oh. _Oh_. He should leave. Immediately, before he was discovered. But his feet wouldn’t move. Wouldn't move _backwards_. To his horror, they continued towards Rose. And Rose’s bed. Slowly, walking even more softly than before, he took those last few steps, taking a deep breath before easing his head past the wall of the alcove.  
  
He nearly gasped at what he saw. Rose, spread out on her bed, eyes screwed tightly shut as one hand caressed her breasts and the other worked busily between her legs. She was pleasuring herself. She was naked. Completely naked, but for her arms, covered in heavy black leather he immediately recognized. She was wearing his coat.  
  
Dozens, maybe hundreds of thoughts raced through his mind at once–all the implications of what he was seeing. But two thoughts crowded the others and warred for dominance. Leave and leave now. Stay, watch. Reluctantly, he gave in to the latter impulse, and nearly everything else was forced from his mind as he watched her hands work like a lover’s, like his wanted to, had always wanted to, nearly since he’d met her. That she was probably thinking of the old him, losing herself in his scent, didn’t bother him. It was still _him_.  
  
Rose splayed her legs even wider and freed an arm from the sleeve of his jacket. Then the fingers that had been dancing over her clit slipped lower and inside her. He cursed both the inevitable reaction of his body and the dark that kept him from seeing more clearly. As her groans became louder and her hand moved faster, his cock grew harder, aching for attention he dare not give it. He shifted, adjusting himself, and had to stifle his own groan at even that tiny amount of contact.  
  
Rose hiked up her knees, the hand on her chest joined its friend between her legs, frantically rubbing at her clit as she strove to drive her fingers deeper inside her body. He would not lower his zip. Absolutely not. But what harm would it do to if he just stroked himself through his trousers a little, give himself that tiny bit of relief? He’d gone this far.  
  
Rose’s sounds were becoming higher pitched, faster. She was close; he might be closer. She turned her head into the coat bunched at her shoulders, stifling her cries. He bit his lip to stop his own. As he was quickly becoming absorbed in his own pleasure, he realized that her moans had taken shape; she was repeating one word. Even muffled in the leather as it was, he recognized his own name. Her hips and hands moved madly, she threw her head, she called his name loud and clear, and then her lips locked, raised off the bed. She was coming–by all indications, coming hard–and to thoughts of him.  
  
He was lost. He spilled into his trousers, suffused with white hot pleasure. And even as his blood rushed in his ears, before his toes could uncurl in his trainers, he was filled with crushing shame and self-disgust. Panicked, he blinked open eyes he didn’t realize he’d closed, and took a last look at Rose on the bed. Her legs had relaxed; she was still. Her face was slack and her eyes were, thanks be to all the gods that might or might not exist, still closed.  
  
He ducked behind the wall again, collecting himself, taking deep breaths as quietly as he could, willing his hearts to slow. When he felt he could move again, he slipped out of her bedroom, as stealthily as he’d entered, locking the door behind him.

* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=34836>


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